


Phone Call

by Anaross



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Angst, F/M, Season/Series 05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-15 13:47:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3449393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anaross/pseuds/Anaross
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spike makes contact, even though he's a ghost. Wesley overhears. Post-Hellbound.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Phone Call

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this during AtS S5, when I was mad at Buffy. We've made up since. :)
> 
> Joss owns 'em, I just love 'em up when he's too mean to them.

The cleaning lady was just exiting Wes's office as he came down the hall. She glanced nervously at him, then back at the open office door. No doubt she was afraid he'd report her for being so slow, finishing her work only as staffers started to arrive. He smiled reassuringly at her, but she turned her face away as she pushed her cart down the hall.  
  
He was almost to his door when he realized what had unnerved her. Spike was in the office. Wes could hear his voice– unprecedentedly warm and free of sarcasm– "Yeah, well, see, I'm not quite meself yet, still working on that. What I'm saying is, well, sort of like a ghost. You know. Can walk through walls. Useful trick, that, but can't do much else."  
  
Wes stopped in the hallway, trying to get control of his anger. Can walk through walls, yes, and right into private offices, frightening the cleaning staff and– who was in there with him? Wes took another step, so that he could see a slice of the room, from the bookcase over to the desk. That's where Spike was standing, there by the phone, his back to the door.  
  
Wes was ready to charge in, but then a familiar voice came through the tinny microphone on the speakerphone. "I– I'm glad. I mean, that you're alive." It was Buffy. Somehow Spike had managed to track her down, find her number, and make this phone call...all without a physical presence in this plane.  
  
He should put a stop to this. Angel wouldn't want Spike talking to Buffy–  
  
 _Angel wouldn't want...._ He heard this echo mockingly in his head. Christ. He wasn't Angel's enforcer, or his errand boy either. It wasn't any of his affair if Spike was in contact with Buffy– except, of course, that Spike was using his phone. That in itself was reason to interrupt him.  
  
But then, over the quiet crackle of the speakerphone, he heard that annoyingly defensive Buffy-voice, the one he heard so frequently during his short tenure as her Watcher. "I _am_ glad, Spike. Really glad. Only– I just don't know what you want from me. Now. Now that it's all over."  
  
Wes was suddenly relieved that he hadn't rushed in, that he couldn't see Spike's face. But he could hear the intake of breath– breath doubly unnecessary in a vampire ghost– and with a sharp and undesired empathy, he felt what Spike felt. He could feel it, and he could see it, in the set of the vampire's shoulders, the bend of his neck, the convulsive clench of his hand beside the phone.  
  
And then Spike was speaking again, his voice a bit rushed, as if he had to talk fast to get the words through his throat. "Don't want anything from you, pet." He was gathering confidence now– he sounded almost natural, and Wes thought, oh, Jesus, he's smiling, I can hear it– he's forcing a smile so that she hears that and not the... "Just wanted to make sure you were doing all right, you and the Bit, 'cause I'm – I'm heading out from here right quick. Got this metaphysician going to put me back into me next week, see."  
  
Spike invested this lie with a sort of casual bravado, and added, "Thought I'd check in before I left. So– look, pet, got to go– all the minions are starting to arrive."  
  
Wes watched, holding his breath to stay soundless, as Spike stabbed once, twice, three times at the disconnect key, watched as the index finger three times descended into the phone and disappeared.  
  
But the voice was easier at least, almost normal. "You give my regards to Dawn, will you? And Rupert too, if he's around."  
  
The shoulders straightened, the hand steadied– and then, with an audible sigh, Spike managed to hit the disconnect, and the speaker stopped its quiet crackling.  
  
Spike stood there for a moment, his body slumped over the desk. Then he turned, head still down, and started the long walk to the door.  
  
Wes took a step back into the hall. He should say– what? He wasn't Fred. He couldn't go in there and take Spike's hand, or try to, and say he understood. And he wasn't Gunn. Couldn't say, _Hey, Blondie Ghost, don't you worry. She's not the only girl out there. Plenty of fish in the sea. You get yourself back together, and I'll take you to some clubs...._  
  
And absolutely he wasn't Angel. He couldn't narrow his eyes and smile that cold smile and say, _Well, what did you expect? I told you she never loved you._  
  
No. He was too much like Spike himself. Understood with his whole body what Spike was feeling now. And understood that sympathy would shatter him.  
  
So when Spike looked up, Wes was walking in, looking down at the newspaper in his hand. He glanced up, as if he'd just noticed that his office wasn't empty. "Spike." He said this in the cool tone Spike would expect from him. "I thought you haunted only Angel."  
  
Spike shrugged. Usually his shrugs rippled all the way down that old coat of his, giving the illusion, at least, of a substantial body inside. But this shrug was half-hearted, just a tensing of the shoulder. "Yeah. Well." He glanced back at the phone. "Had to make a phone call. Knew yours has a speaker on it."  
  
"Made a phone call." Wes allowed a bit of skepticism into his voice. "How'd you manage that?"  
  
"Took me a couple hours." Then, grudgingly, "Okay. Most of the night. You can send me a bill."  
  
"I'll be certain to do that, Spike."  
  
He felt something like motion as the ghost brushed past him.  
  
"Spike."  
  
Spike turned, his face bleak. "Yeah?"  
  
"If you like, I can probably find you a phone that's voice-activated."  
  
Spike gathered the coat around him, as if he were gathering the last remnants of pride. "Nah, don't bother. Never was one for the telephone. Thanks for the thought." And then he walked through the wall and faded into nothing.  


**Author's Note:**

> Originally published on LiveJournal in December 2004.


End file.
